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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



BIRD-TALK 

A CALENDAR OF THE ORCHARD 
AND WILD-WOOD 



BY / 

ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY 









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V 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1887 







Copyright, 1887, 
ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY and HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All 7'ights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge -' 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS, 



I. JANUARY. 

PAGE 

In the Evergreens. — Chickadees , . . , . i 



11. FEBRUARY. 
In the Thorn-Thicket. — Blue Jay 4 

III. MARCH. 
On the Bare Bough. — Song Sparrow 7 

IV. APRIL. 
In Open Fields — Crow. — Robin 9 

V. MAY. 

Hid in the Lilac. — Catbird ii 

On a Grass-Head. — Bobolink 14 

VI. JUNE. 

In the Ash-Tree. — Vireos 16 

Under the Laurel Bush. — Oven-Bird 19 

. VIL JULY. 

In the Cherry-Trees. — Tanager 20 

In the Birch Hollow. — Savanna Sparrow 21 

VIII. AUGUST. 
In Deep Woods. — Least Pewee. — Hermit-Thrush 24 



iv CONTEXTS. 

IX. SEPTEMBER. 
In the Stubble. — Quail » 27 

X. OCTOBER. 
Among Falling Leaves. — Tree-Sparrow 29 

XI. NOVEMBER. 

In Early Snow. — Goldfinch 31 

XII. DECEMBER. 

From the Old Barn Gable. — Screech Owl 33 




--:%:-r4 




S 



THE EVERGREENS. 

[The Chickadees.) 

The Norway spruces, grand and old, 
Stretching their green arms manifold. 
With cone-hung fingers reach awide 
To drop their wealth on every side. 
As noble hearts whose secret strength 
Issues in broadcast good at length. 

Stately straight, like masts of ships, 
From bases huge to rocket-tips, 
Lift the single-purposed stems ; 
Great, low branches, with their hems 
Fringed and fragrant, sweep the sward ; 
Lesser levels heavenward 



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BIRD-TALK. 

Build their floorings — all the way 
Thick their spiny carpets lay 
Over each circumference 
In a dull magnificence. 

Living hearts and homes of life : 
Warm and hushed from tempest-strife 
In deep shelter ; vast abroad 
Like the inviting grace of God, 
Waiting, welcoming. Only this 
Rears their verdant palaces ! 
Grace for what ? And home for whom ? 
Filled with summer's high perfume. 
Rich with granaries of seed 
Stored against long wintry need, — 

Ample spaces, sweetly hid, 
Chambers of a pyramid — 
With what occupancy, say, 
Are ye all alive to-day ? 

" We," reply the mighty trees, 

*' Have grown to hold the Chickadees ! " 

" Chick-adee — dee — dee," 

Sing the little birds with glee. 
" Don't you see — don't you see 
How it would be 
With such as we. 
Except each free and gracious tree 
Were built and spread. 
From root to head. 
That we might fed 
And sheltered be — be — be .^ 



BIRD-TALK. 

'' Chickadee, dee — dee — dee ! 
God made and waited for the tree 
Before He made the chickadee ! 
Chickadee-dee — Chickadee-dee — 
Chickadee, dee — dee — dee ! " 












*^fj— Y* 







IN THE THORN-THICKET. 
(T/ie Bhiejay.) 

Something glorious, something gay, 
Flits and flashes this-a-way ! 

Thwart the hemlock's dusky shade. 

Rich in color full displayed, 
Swiftly vivid as a flame — 

Blue as heaven, and white as snow — 

Doth the lovely creature go. 

What may be his dainty name ? 

" Only this " — the people say — 
*' Saucy, chattering, scolding Jay ! " 

Cruel, teasing, malapert — 
Mocking taunt or mortal hurt 
Hurling at some lesser one, 
Reckoning it for life and fun — 
Fierce and cowardly — oh, pray, 
Who would be a splendid Jay ? 




BIRD-TALK. 

Are you wondering wherefore so 
In heaven's livery he should go ? 
Maybe Heaven would have you know 
Livery is not birthright, dear, 
And color is not character. 

Hear the mean and bitter note 
Coming from his banded throat ! 
Eager scorn and jealous blame 
For fault where he is just the same ; 
Quick accusal, close akin 
To crookedness of inward sin ! — 
Ah, He who set the mark on Cain 
Still somewhere makes the witness plain ! 
Then let him go his glittering way ; 
Let him shine on, as shine he may — 
Fair-plumed, fine-crowned, false-hearted Jay 

'* Say, say, say ! 

So, so, so ! 
Did you see, did you see 

Cousin Crow — ho, ho ! 
Where did he, where did he, 

Where did he go? 

D' ye know ? 
He 's a quack, quack, quack. 
With his clack, clack, clack ! 

He 's a villain, he 's a villain. 
And he 's black, black, black ! 

'' Stay, stay, stay ! 
Whatsay, whatsay ? — 
Then ye know 



BIRD-TALK. 

I 'm a crow ? 
'Even though bedizened so ' — 
Hee, hee, ho ! 

* That 's the way,' d' ye say, 

* Tongues betray ' ? 

Well, really — well, really ! — 
Whatsay, whatsay, whatsay ? 
' Inside just as black ' ? — 
Good lack ! good lack ! good lack ! " 

Something ugly — something ill, 
Flees off, jeering, jabbering still. 





THE BARE BOUGH. 

( The So Jig Sparrozu.) 

The careful winter was hardly gone, 
And the careful spring was coming on 
So much to manage, so much to make 
So many matters to undertake — 
It seemed to me that I had to do 
More than ever I could get through. 



But, walking along by the orchard wall, 

Where the sopsyvines in autumn fall. 

On a rough bare apple-bough overhead 

Lit a little sparrow, and this he said — 

Telling of all he found to do 

With a thankful gladness that thrilled me through 

" Sweet — sweet — 
Sweet — sweet ! 
Chipper, chipper, chipper, chipper, — chip ! 



BIRD-TALK. 

Oh what a merry, merry, busy, busy thing Life is ! 
Sweet — sweet — 
Sweet — sweet ! 
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry — quick, quick, quick ! 
There was never, never, such a busy time as this ! 
The world to wake ! 
And the nests to make ! 
Sweet — sweet ! 
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. 
We 're all busy — God's busy, 
God 's happy — we 're all happy, 
For we 're His !" 





'y\. 



V ' ' ^'K i. 



IV. 

IN OPEN FIELDS. 

(/. — T/w Crow.) 

" Caw ! caw ! 

Haw ! haw ! 
No more storm ! 
It 's warm — wa — rm ! 
And they 've planted corn 

Co — rn ! Co — rn ! 

Come on, come on ! 

The farmer 's gone ! 
His man of straw 
I scorn — SCO — rn ! 

Because — cau — se ! 

I knew what 't was 
Soon 's I sa — w ! 
Haw ! ha — w ! 
I 've stolen corn 
Before he was bo — rn ! 

Haw! Ha — w!" 



BIRD-TALK. 

{11. — The Robm.) 

"■ Chee — er up, chee — er up, I 'm he — re i 
I 'm he — re, and I 've come to stay ! 
It 's the bravest time of the ye — ar — 
Chee — er up, chee — er up, I say ! 

" The sno — ws are over and go — ne, 
Ru — n and rippled awa — y ; 
The lo — ng, long summer's begu — n, 
And the wo — rid is going to be ga — y ! 

" Now and then there may be, to be su — re, 
A clou — dy or rainy day ; 
But they never come to endu — re — 
Chee — er up, chee — er up, anyway ! 

" Chee — er up, chee — er up, I 'm he — re, 
With a thou — w — sand things to sa — y'; 
It 's the swe — et, sweet spring of the ye — ar — 
Chee — er up, chee — er up right awa — y ! " 












HID IN THE LILAC. 

( The Catbird. ) 

Close by my window there runs a fence, 

Picketed white and evenly ; 
And over its corner, in opulence, 

Tumble the heaps of a lilac-tree, 
That reach and broaden, and loftier rear, 
Growing and thickening, year by year. 

Mystical depths of quiet shade ; 

Fairy splendors of emerald sheen ; 
Mimic chamber and colonnade 

Shaped by the boughs and bountiful green 
Oh wonderful world that I cannot see 
Hid in the heart of the lilac-tree ! 




I watched the leaf-gates where light crept in 
A little space, as the sunshine played — 

And the breath of the breeze did further win — 
And wished for the moment that I were made 



12 BIRD-TALK. 

So light and tiny that I might push 
My way to the heart of a hlac bush ! 

The thought took form with the longing ; down 
To the Hne that the square-topped pickets run 

Straight under the lilac's massy crown, 
Swept a little bird ; and I saw it done. 

As best and only the thing could be, 

That which I wanted was done for me. 

Pausing and glancing, with shy demurs, 
Warily hopping from pale to pale, 

Setting those dainty small feet of hers 
On point by point of the trestle-rail, 

A black-winged catbird with soft gray breast 

Ran in to the covert that hid her nest. 

''Ah, now," I said, " there '11 be life and fun ! 

I 've got a neighbor : and well I know 
She '11 be a blithe and talkative one ; 

To see her come and to see her go, 
Over the causeway she finds so pat 
To her little purpose — there 's sport in that ! 

"■ And then the interests I shall share — 

Love-chat and confab, snip-snap and all — 
Household counsel, and gossip of air, 

Without the trouble of going to call ! " 
I longed for the eaves-dropping to begin : 
How glad I was they were moving in ! 

But I never knew till I came to try. 
Listening curious, day by day. 



BIRD-TALK. 13 

Now to an argument, now to a cry, 

How much a catbird could have to say : 
Nor half how human the tale could be 
Told in trills from a lilac-tree. 

''Oh, I'm a 'catbird' ? 

' With a temper,' — yes ! 
Pretty good ! 
Yet I 'm not amiss, 
I 'm not a bad bird, 
If I 'm understood ! 

" It 's only that word — 
The only bad word 
I ever say, 
And that on a very bad, provoking day, 
When the world works some mean old horrid way ! 
' Ye — a — ow ! 
I sw — ow ! ' 

" Or when I 'm flurried 
And over-worried. 
Doing my best 
About my nest, 
And things go criss-cross — oh, you all know how they 
do! 

Then I express it — 
For I can't repress it 
Any more than you can, and I wa — il out — just like 
you — 

' Mi — eu ! 



14 BIRD-TALK. 

'' French for ' better ! ' 

(With a silent letter) 
Rhymes to other things the French say, too i 
Oh, puss and I — we know a thing or two ! 

But it is n't swearing. 

Nor yet despairing ; 
We only want — the ' luck of next time ' — so we do 

It is n't fret and fuss. 

Nor any petty muss — 
We 're never clamorous, nor too impetuous, 

But the world 's in debt to us : 

If we don't see to it, 

Who will take heed to it ? 
Pay up, pay up, old world, your I O U ! " 



ON A GRASS-HEAD. 

( The Bobolink.) 

"I 'm Bob-o-link ! 

Bob-o-link ! 
Here and there, 
Quick as a wink. 
Before you can think — 

Think! Think! 
That 's Bobolink ! 

" Lady Link ! Lady Link ! 
Follow, follow, follow — 
Follow me. Lady Link ! 
Don't stop to prink — 
Prink ! Prink ! 



BIRD-TALK. 15 

" The world 's in a hurry — 
A blessed pucker and flurry — 

For life is short, 
And the summer's begun, 

And there 's naught, naught, naught. 
But loving and thanksgiving to be done 
Under the glad, glad, loving, loving Sun ! 

That 's what I say — 
And think ! 

Bob-o-link ! Bob-o-link ! Bob-o-link ! 

" That 's why I 'm here ! 
Black-coated, 
White-cravatted, 
Bob-o-link ! 
Don't you see ? 

Did n't you think ? 
Preaching Gospel every year — 
Bob-o-link ! " 



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IN THE ASH-TREE. 

{T/ie Vireos.) 

An old, old tree with a mighty shade — 
Seamed and rifted in limb and trunk 

With lines and gullies that years have made ' 
And frosts and tempests have worn and sunk 

Shelters me where I sit to-day, 

Hearing the laughter of leaves at play, 

And the slow-swayed branches' gentle moan 

Admonishing in grave undertone. 

Like orchestral accompaniment. 

Across whose diapason low 
A voice in slender sweetness sent 

Runs with ripples that come and go, 
Are the sober symphonies of the tree 

To the small bird-warble that pleases me 
With its one refrain and repeat alway, 

And the self-same story it lias to say : 



BIRD-TALK. 1 7 

*' Little witch, little witch ! 

Oh, there you be ! 
Look up quick 

And listen to me ! 
There you sit 

In the old ash-tree. 

" Little witch, little witch. 

Turn round to me. 
The light is rich 

And the air is free ; 
Oh, what a bliss 

It is to be ! 
Sweet little witch ! 

Do you love me } " 

'' And what if I did ? " 

'' Why, then 't would be 
Per — fectly jolly 

For you and me ! 
We 'd set up a house 

Right off, you see ! " 

** Let me consider " — 
"Oh, yes, indeed ; 
To make you consider 
Is all I need ! " 

She had n't considered for half a wink 
When he was back again : 

'' What do you think "> 
Here is a twig, dear ; 



1 8 BIRD-TALK. 

Shall we build ? 
Little witch, little witch, 

I 'm sure you 're skilled ! 
I'll bring you sticks, 

And leaves, and grass, 
And you shall fix 

For yourself, sweet lass ! 
You shall have your will — 

I '11 do as you bid — 
And I '11 keep quite still " — 

'' Oh, I wish you did ! " 

He hushed his voice to a plaintive trill. 
But under his breath it quivered still : 

" Little witch, little witch, 
I love — you so ; 
Maybe — more 

Than you wish — to know ! " 

Then low she twittered : 

''That's dif — ferent ! 

Why did n't you — tell me 
What you — meant ? 

Yon love — me — much — 
And you love — me — more — 
Why did n't you say it 
So before ? " 

Ah, then there was chatter — then there was glee 
And the honeymoon sped right merrily. 
I heard it all 'neath the old ash-tree ; 
It was so like other folks' ways, you see ! 



BIRD-TALK, 1 9 



UNDER THE LAUREL BUSH. 

[The Oven-Bird.) 

Among the pines I heard this little song ; 

I heard it all the Sunday morning long : 

The hymn-tune of the Golden-crowned Thrush — 

A voice — as flame was sight, once — from the bush 

Just one clear call, and then a thrill of sound 
Flung all its wavering ecstasy around ; 
A melody with wings that beat the air 
Till a swift sweetness trembled everywhere. 

One can but think it : it was passing fine 
For clumsy syllables of yours and mine : 
In hurried utterance when I strive to say 
What it was like, words stumble on the way : 

'' Oh, I shi — ver, iver, iver, iver, iver, — 
Oh, I qui — ver, iver, iver, iver, iver, — 
With the bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss 
Of a happy day like this, this, this ! 

" Oh, what a riv — er, iver, iver, iver, iver 
Of rapture runs forever, ever, ever 
From the Bosom of the Best, Best, Best, 
Down into every little nest, nest, nest ! 

Hallelu — jah, lujah, lujah, lujah, lujah, 

Amen — amen — amen, men, men ! " 












Z-^' 






VII. 






IN THE CHERRY-TREES. 

( Tanager.) 

Chip chur — r — r ! 
I 'm the cherry-eater — r — r, — 
The Tanager ! 

Do you demur — r — r ? 

Chip, chip, chur — r — r 1 
Is n't it wor — r — th 
A cherry or mor — r — e 
Out of such a stor — r — e, 
To see me, sir — r — r ? 
I 'm the Tanager — r — r 



^ I 



Please, may I per — r — ch ? 

If you will not stir — r — r, 
Nor watch me too particu — ler — r — r, 
You shall not be wor — r — se 

By little me 

For your char — r — i — ty ! 
Nor left in the lur — r — ch 

With an empty tree ! 



BIRD-TALK. 21 

Don't you go to chur — r — ch, 
I wonder, sir — r — r ? 
Does n't it occur — r — r 
To you instantly 
What a chance 't would be 
To mind what the ministers always pr — r — each, — 
Up to the golden rule to r — r — each — 
And do as you 'd be done by to me ? 
Tut, tut, good sir — r — r ! 
You 're a wor — r — ship — er — r — r ! 
I 'm only, — chip, chur — r — r, — 
An ignorant little red Tanager ! 



IN THE BIRCH HOLLOW. 

{Savanna Sparrow^ 

A sweet-breathed pine, and an old oak-tree 
Hold the cords of my hammock for me. 
Over me as I lazily lie. 
Sapphire glints from a crystal sky 
Set with the leaves' soft emerald seem 
Like the palace roof of a fairy dream ; 
Or the builded glories beheld by them 
Who walk in the New Jerusalem. 

A meadow-open spreads fair and low 
Beyond, where the golden daisies blow : 
And farther yet, in a stillness deep. 
The dusky lines of the woodland sweep. 
But half the hollow that dips between 
With twinkling birches is glittering green, 
Whose bright-massed tops in the sunshine make 
Sparkle and shimmer as of a lake. 



22 BIRD-TALK. 

Scents of the bay and fern and pine 

Richly visit this nook of mine ; 

The air in whose warmth their odors seethe 

Is blessedness only just to breathe ; 

And the stillness of all things, far and near, 

Is deeper beatitude to hear ; 

Till the hushed repose with a note is broken 

Sweeter than silence, — like silence spoken. 

In the little birch-vale, where the shadow hides 
His nest, the savanna sparrow bides ; 
And when other singers are idly still 
His small, soft chitter drifts up the hill. 
Bearing the message that he has found. 
And chirps as he sits there on the ground. 
For the heart-content that interpreteth 
The wee, wee word that the sparrow saith : — 

Sip, sip, sip, — 
Ever so little, — 
If ever so little — sip ! 

Sip, sip, sip. 
Of the life that's a lift ! 
Sip, sip, sip ! 
We can take but a little, — a little, — 

Of the life that 's a gift ! 
But it 's here, — it 's here, — sip, sip ! 
It 's here, and it 's free ! 
We can get 
But a bit ; 
Yet if ever so little, — so little, — 
Sip, sip, — sip, sip, — sip, sip ! 
It 's for you and for me, — 



BIRD-TALK, 

Sip, sip, — 
The life that is free ! 

Sip, sip, — sip, sip, — sip, sip ! 

Ever so Httle, — so little, — 

Ever so little, — sip ! 
It 's here, — it 's free, — it 's a gift ! 
Sip, sip, — sip, sip, — sip, sip, 

Of the life that 's a lift ! 



23 





IN DEEP WOODS 

( The Least Pezuee.) 

The least pewee of all, 

He sits and sings 
As do the human small, 
Impertinent things 
Among the rest, 
Checking the best ; 
One single, urgent note 

From his intrusive throat — 
Two-syllabled, if that count anything — 
Making the sweet woods suddenly to ring, 
As if his realm, prone to his tiny will : 
Shut up ! Shut up ! Be still, be still, be still ! 
In early twilight time, 
When the long ridge I climb. 

And cross the crown, 
To where the deepening glades 
Of holy forest shades 
Shut in and down ; 



BIRD-TALK. 25 

And the fine, far-off, tender gloom 

Makes sacred, separate place and room 

Where the hermit-thrush, like a bird of prayer, abides 

And tunes his psalm for morn and evening-tides, — 

I hold my breath 

For what he uttereth, 
And the hushed air is cloven with the first 
Pure calm of sound — then comes, with hurried burst. 
Like cheap, mean interference of the world 
With willing thoughts of worship — strangely hurled 

Upon the soul of me 

In taunt and mockery — 
The little insolence of the Least Pewee, 
Quenching the rare, with commonplace to fill : 
" Shut up ! shut up ! shut up ! Be still ! Be still ! " 



( The Hermit-Thrush.') 

" Oh, here dwell we, 
So qui-etly, — 
Faith-fully ! 
Lone-lily ? 

Ah, very true, very true ! 
Yet — if — you knew ! 
I tell you — I tell you — I tell you 
That if — you knew — 
Ah if you — if you knew ! 



'* Though far — and deep 
The shad-ows creep. 
Yet heav-en — is blue, 
And shi-ning, shi-ning through, 



26 BIRD-TALK. 

Forev-er, ev-er true ! 
I tell you — I tell you — I tell you, 
For-ev-er true ! 

" On-ly a few — 
A ver-y few, 
Who ev-er knew 
What /tell you! 
I tell you — I tell you — I tell you — 
Ah, ifyo^x knew ! 
Ah, ^/you, if yow knew ! 

*' Oh, did — you — could — you see 
What comes — what comes — to me ! 
Oh will you — oh will you — oh will you 

But wait — with me — 

And list — with me — 

And look — with me ? 
I tell you — I tell you — I tell you 

The things — that be 

Are ver-ily 
More than — more than — you see ! 

" Oh listen, oh listen, oh listen ! 
For if — for if — you knew 
The peace — the peace — I do ! 
I tell you — I tell you — I tell you 
The tru-th is tru-e ! 
The tru-th, the tru-th, is tru-c ! " 












IX. 
September* 



IN THE STUBBLE. 

/ -^"'Y! ' The golden-rods in the pasture shine, 
In the wind of the hillside the red 
bough rocks ; 
The air of the orchard is rich with wine, 

And the little birds gather in eager flocks ; 
For the sun is almost over the line, 
In the wonderful poise of the equinox. 

Robin and vireo, bobolink, 

(In traveling dress, and with sober note,) 
Whippoorwill, swallow, cheerful chewink. 

Oriole, tuning his golden throat. 
For farewell benefit one may think, 

Are holding their Witenagemote. 

Gay and noisy, or tenderly glad. 
Gathers each family and clan, 

Telling what beautiful times they 've had. 
Repeating the summer as well as they can ; 



2S BIRD-TALK. 

Till one almost cries out, vexed and sad, 
Birds have the best of it, over man ! 

But down in the gentle intervale 

That the feeding life of the hills receives, — 
Roughened now with the stubble pale 

Where the farmer gathered his mighty sheaves — 
Runs the shy brown-breasted quail, 

Gleaning the sweetness the harvest leaves. 

He cannot fly, any more than we, 

Away from the winter's cold and threat, 

To sunny fields by the southern sea, 
A cheap new holiday to get. 

He must bear, and bide, and patient be 

For the blithe, brave summer that 's coming yet ! 

And I think, as he walks in the golden light 
Of the equal day and his own content. 

While the quick-winged singers are thronging bright 
Overhead in their busy parliament, 

If he does n't say it at least he might. 

The word that his spring song really meant : 

More yet ! More yet ! More yet ! 
Not over quite, not quite ! 
All right ! 
Not yet — doth God — forget ! 
More love, — more life — more light ! 
All right ! 



?l^> 



-1 im:/--/. j 







The leaves are ripe ; earth everywhere 

Is gorgeous with their color-stain ; 
A glory streams through all the air ; 
Like light in church through tinted 
pane, 
That shimmers slowly. 

The anxious time for nesting bird 
And toiling man is over now ; 

Only some casual song is heard, 
Or easy whistle at the plough 
Of yeoman lowly. 

It is the time of quiet earned ; 
The Sabbath of stern labor won ; 




30 BIRD-TALK. 

Hallowed since first the planets burned — 
The seventh-day calm of the well-done ; 
And it is holy. 

I hear a small, sweet strain that floats 

Among the tree-tops of October, 
Seeming to say, in gentle notes, 

So few, so clear, so softly sober — 
''Oh, keep^'W ho-ly!" 

The little sparrow of the north 

Comes when the leaves and nuts are dropping, 
And on the stillness warbles forth 

This message, in his long flight stopping — 
'' Yes — keep — it ho-ly ! " 

Dear word — yet now, as long ago. 

The " wherefore " of six days' pursuing ! 

God's Sabbath is but builded so. 
And only grows of urgent doing. 

'' Keep — the week — ho-ly ! " 



X 



tlU; 




XL 

Jl^otember. 



IN THE EARLY SNOW. 

( The Goldfinch) 

A SOFT white sprinkle on the pasture lies ; 

The hemlock tips are turned to ostrich plumes ; 
And seen against the clear blue of the skies, 

The orchard boughs look full of apple-blooms. 

Where the sun slants along the forest side, 
Making the calm November afternoon 

Like a faint lingering of the summer tide, 
A flock of finches pipes in cheery tune. 

In undress uniform ; the gaudy gold 

Of the parade-day thriftily put by. 
Life has grown serious ; with storm and cold 

And gray cloud banners, winter marches nigh. 

But "Who 's afraid.'' " their quick call seems to cry. 
"Not me — not me — not me" — comes answer- 
ing clear 



32 BIRD-TALK. 

From brave, sweet throats that valiantly defy 
The changing humors of a hemisphere. 

" We '11-see — we 'Il-see — we '11-see " — it sounds again ; 

Till, listening closer, I interpret more, 
And the small syllables make full and plain 

A larger meaning than they held before. 

'' We 're-wee — we 're-wee — indeed, indeed, — we 're- 
wee ; 

Yet we — can sing — we still, we still, can sing ; 
The winter 's chill — chill, chill as it can be ; 

But He, yes, He — will see — to everything ! " 






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XII. 

SDecember 



FROM THE OLD BARN GABLE. 

(Scf'eec/i-Owl.) 

So much in the world, and I don't know whoo — oo-oo, 
00-00 — se ! 
So much to get, and I don't know how, — ow-ow, ow- 
ow, 00 — w ! 
I wonder if I can ever choo — oo-oo, oo-oo, oo — se 
To be anything better than I am no — w, ow-ow, ow- 



ow, o — ow 



What good are my great big half-bhnd ey — ey-ey, ey-ey, 
ey — es, 

That search for all, and can nothing see — ee-ee-ee-ee ? 
Why did they make me so stupid — wi — i-i, i-i, i — se, 

Oh, zi'/ij/ did they make a foo — 1 of me — ee-ee-ee-ee ? 

I wonder if anywhere befo — o-o-o-o-ore 

I 've been, and missed, and lost, till no — w, ow-ow, ow- 
ow, o — w 



34 BIRD-TALK. 

I shall have to be forever mo — o-o, o-o, o — re 

I don't know what, and I don't know ho — w, o v-ow, 
ow-ow, o — w ? 

What *s that the little children sa — a-a, a-a, a — y, 
There in the light, where they trim their tree — ee-ee, 
ee-ee, ee, 

The glorious light in which they pla — a-a, a-a, a — y, 
And that only blinds and tortures me — ee-ee, ee-ee, ee ? 

*' It was ever ever, so long ago — o-o, o-o, o — o. 
The blessed Christ was born to-da — a-a, a-a, a — y, 

And helpless laid in a manger lo — o-o, o-o, o — w : " 
Is that what the little children sa — a-a, a-a, a — y ? 

I don't know why they are singing so — o-o, o-o, o, 
And I don't know what the Christ may be — e-e, e-e, ee. 

But I wish that now, or long ago — o-o o-o, o — o, 
Or ever, some Christ would come to me — e-e, e-e, ee I 



The screech-owl sat in the gable cold, 
And blinked his big eyes mournfully ; 

But what if the word which came of old 
Hath message for him, as for you and me ? 

If some time, Love, with its wonderful reach 
Down the whole creation that doth complain, 

Shall redeem the owls, and sublimely teach 
How none may cry for a soul in vain ? 



MRS. WHITNEY'S BOOKS. 



Faith Gartney's Girlhood. I1.50. 

If there is any other American writer who so thoroughly understands girls as Mrs. Whit- 
ney, we have yet to see the evidence of his or her knowledge. She writes as if the experi- 
ences of her own youth were as fresh in her mind as if that time were only yesterday. — 
The Literary World. 

Hitherto: A Story of Yesterdays. $1.50. 

Mrs. Whitney always writes with a purpose ; and her words go right down to the inner- 
most soul of all earnest readers. . . . Her stories are of the highest and best order of fic- 
tion. — Loziisville Courier-Journal. 

Patience Strong's Outings. $1.50. 

A charming story for girls, teaching in the most engaging manner some 
of the most important lessons of life, yet mingling the story and the lesson 
so skillfully and with so much humor as to lure the reader on with the 
most beneficent fascination. 

The Gayworthy's: A Story of Threads and Thrums. $1.50. 

Accompanying a rare sympathetic comprehension of her subject, there is an air of purity 
and refinement surrounding all Mrs. Whitney writes, that we have not detected in any other 
writer for the young. — The Literary World. 

A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite's Life. Illustrated. ^1.50. 

This is a lovely story, full of sweet and tender feeling, kindly Christian philosophy, and 
noble teaching. It is pleasantly spiced, too, with quaint New England characters, and their 
odd, shrewd reflections. — Grace Greenwood. 

Real Folks. Illustrated. $1.50. 

We place this book first in the list of those sure to interest girls just becoming women ; 
and we take pleasure in recommending it. — Louisville Courier- Journal. 

We Girls: A Home Story, Illustrated. $1.50. 

Who that was introduced to Leslie Goldthwaite, that charming summer among the White 
Mountains, will not gladly seize the opportunity of renewing the acquaintance as she takes 
her place with " We Girls." — Christian Register {'Qos\.or\). 

The Other Girls. Illustrated. $1.50. 

Of all the conceptions of young womanhood which fiction has given us, we know of few 
so natural and lovable as Bel Bree — Bosto7i Jour7tal. 

Sights and Insights : Patience Strong's Story of Over the Way. 

2 volumes. $3.00. 

One would suppose that nothing new could be said about the Alps, St. Peter's, the Pan- 
theon, Westminster Abbey, or a score of other things, which every traveler sees, and every 
traveler writes about ; but Mrs. Whitney has invested each and all with a charm and fresh- 
ness that make them seem like revelations of new realities. — Boston Transcript. 



Odd or Even. $1.50. 

Mrs. Whitney is one of America's best story-tellers. Her writings are pure, bright, en- 
tertaining, and improving. Her present book, " Odd, or Even," is one of her best — sweet, 
tender, and humorous throughout. — Episcopal Register ( Philadelphia). 

Bonnyborough. $1.50, 

This is a New England story in scene and characters, possessing the 
earnestness, the nobility of air and spirit, and the interest which character- 
izes all that Mrs. Whitney writes. 

Homespun Yarns. Containing "Zerub Throop's Experiment," " But- 
tered Crusts," " My Mother Put It On," "Girl Noblesse," "The Little 
Savages of Beetle Rock," and other Short Stories. $1.50. 

Boys at Chequasset. $1.50. 

Mrs. Whitney is the author of a number of books for girls which are unique for simple, 
practical wisdom. ... In the little book now published she shows that she can write for 
boys with much of the skill that was peculiar to Jacob Abbott. — Christian Intelligejicer 
tNew York). 

Mother Goose for Grown Folks. New Edition, enlarged. Illus- 
trated by HoppiN. $1.50. 

Fancy a poetical key to Mother Goose ! But no one must read it as a study. It is too 
delightful for that. Any one may read it, however, for its freshness, humor, delicacy, and 
cleverness. — Quebec Chroiiicle- 

Just How: A Key to the Cook-Books. $1.00. 

A person entirely ignorant of cooking could, it seems to us, go into her kitchen with this 
book in her hand, and be confident of success in all the simple forms of cooking. It is not 
possible to speak too strongly in praise of the peculiar method and methods of the book. — 
H. H., iiL Deliver Tribujie. 

Holy Tides. Square i6mo, beautifully printed and bound, 75 cents. 

A tasteful book of thoughtful poetry; devoted to Advent, Christmas, 
Epiphany, Lent, Whitsunday, Trinity, and Easter. 

Pansies. A Volume of Poems. i6mo, $1.25. 

A book which is singularly free from artistic commonplace, and everywhere breathes a 
spirit of refined fancy and thoughtful earnestness which should commend it to all true sym- 
pathies, even if it were not matched by so rare a degree of poetical merit. — Nezu York 
Tribune. 

Daffodils. i6mo, gilt top, ^1.25. 

A very attractive book, containing the poems written by Mrs. Whitney 
during several years past. 

*^* For sale by ail Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of 
price by the Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston. 



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